


Three A.M. Thoughts

by Ash_Writes



Category: Daniel Howell - Fandom, Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: DAN AND PHIL - Freeform, Self Harm, Severly Depressed Dan, Suicide, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 04:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14205342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ash_Writes/pseuds/Ash_Writes
Summary: Do not pretend these are roses that blossom on your thighs. They’re created with the thorns that you pricked yourself with when you tried to be beautiful.





	Three A.M. Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!!!  
> \- Suicidal Thoughts//Attempt  
> \- Self Harm  
> \- Self Hate
> 
> This is a rant I wrote in 30 minutes and it’s 3am and if I don’t upload this now I never will so enjoy my suicidal thoughts expressed through Dan.

Sometimes Dan wished it was as pretty as tumblr made it. Sometimes he wished he had someone to kiss his scars and tell him he’s beautiful regardless of the blood running down his thighs and maybe it’s wrong but it’s romanticised and it’s an image Dan has in his brain.

Dan doesn’t pretend anymore. He used to pretend he had friends that understood him and that they fit together as easily as pieces in a puzzle, but he’s not stupid and he doesn’t pretend they care anymore. They tolerate him, they let him play his mind games, but they don’t invite him to their parties or text him outside of school times.

So Dan gave up with them, and now he simply locks himself away, in his room where no one looks through him like he’s not there and he lets the thoughts in his head just roll and maybe it’s wrong but it feels so fucking right.

He doesn’t feel happy. He doesn’t feel like there’s a point to any of this, like if he disappeared no one would care. He wants to disappear. If he just disappeared maybe the thoughts that fogged his mind would finally live and let live and he’d be happy for just one fucking second.

His only comfort is the blaring music in his ears and the laptop in his lap that keep him up all night, posting shitty poems about how depressing his life is and, if he wanted to be seen as beautiful and sad, this his the closest he’s going to get.

Here, on tumblr, no one judges. They’re all just suicidal kids, telling each other that suicide isn’t the answer even though as they send that message they’re tying nooses around their necks and emptying bottles of pills onto their bedsheets.

They all spend too much time in the bathroom, where they can wash away the inside of their bodies that they let bleed like they’re detoxing all the evils even though no one can really get all the demons out of their heads because they’re not real, despite how opaque they seem.

Dan’s parents try to care. They really do. But with long working hours and two children to provide and care for, it’s hard to be close to them. Dan saw the way his mothers eyes lingered the time he wrapped his right arm in white bandages; saw the sadness in his fathers eyes the time he said that the plaster on his palm was from a burn. They just don’t have the time.

Adrian also tried for a while. He would sit in Dan’s room and they’d watch a movie and they’d mutter the odd words but Adrian was too young to really understand much except that Dan was so fucking sad. At the start, when they were both years younger, Adrian would draw him stick figure get-well-soon cards and Dan would cry because he loved his brother. Now though, Adrian didn’t try, and Dan felt lonely and he just didn’t try anymore.

His grades slipped and he was falling asleep in class because he was awake until 3am every night wrestling thoughts. He missed school for a week and no one noticed, he smiled at his classmates and they smiled back, because they didn’t realise his thighs stung in the shower.

Dan attempted suicide one time. He was 14, he overdosed and drew enough blood to pass out, but he woke up, searing pain in his arms and thighs and covered in his own puke. He never told his family, and they never asked why the painkillers and his mothers antibiotics disappeared one night or why he’d apparently gotten an awful nose bleed even though he’d never had one before.

He’d try again, he knew it. He was surprised that he’d made it so many years after the first attempt, but he was eighteen now and wasn’t it beautiful to die tragically young? Even if his body was marred with scars and fat and he wasn’t like the pretty skinny tumblr girls?

People told him it got better.  
He didn’t believe them, never thought his serotonin-deficient brain would let him.  
It wasn’t he who made himself better though, it was Manchester and two hour train journeys.  
Learning to love himself would be hard, but loving another was the easiest thing in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Idk if anyone will notice the subtle acrostic poem but :):):)


End file.
